


When a Dream Appears

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Series: You Belong to Me 'Verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Masturbation, Prologue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7491309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The store was empty, and Peter was straightening up, listening to the radio, thinking about what to do for lunch. Stiles came in, and he felt like everything stopped - or maybe not stopped. Refocused around the scent of the young man as the bell dinged and he entered Peter's life, never to be free of him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When a Dream Appears

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prologue sorta to my You Belong to Me series, and i accidentally started writing this in Peter's perspective when the other ones are from Stiles's. Whoops. But here we are. 
> 
> Also, if you guys could do me a huge favor. I'm running out of lyrics to You Belong to Me because, haha, there's actually not a lot to that song???? i sorta wrote myself into a corner here 'cause I did not think I'd really add to this series, or at least, if I did, i wouldn't only use stuff from that song. so, like, if you can think of a song that is similar to You Belong to Me (for whatever reason; tone, content, sound, just for some reason it makes you think of it) please help a bitch out and comment below. Even if you don't read this, like, you come to this part of the notes and ur like, "ew this fic is not for me" but you can think of a song suggestion - it would be very very nice, my dudes. 
> 
> notes on gross shit below

Stiles came into his arms store mid-morning on a weekday. Peter knew the exact date. He'd circled it on his calendar after the fact so he could remember it for future anniversaries, but he wouldn't tell Stiles about that until much later. 

The store was empty, and Peter was straightening up, listening to the radio, thinking about what to do for lunch. Stiles came in, and he felt like everything stopped - or maybe not stopped. Refocused around the scent of the young man as the bell dinged and he entered Peter's life, never to be free of him again. 

He had a half-finished iced coffee in one hand, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He was handsome, he smelled delicious, and he was already Peter's by the way his breath caught slightly and his pupils dilated. Peter thought he could take him to bed by the end of the week at the latest, because clearly the young man was a slut. He certainly wan't dressed like one - clearly not knowing how, his clothing thoroughly unalluring but somewhat endearing. Peter could just tell. Either Stiles was a slut or he'd at least be on for Peter.

"Hi," Stiles had said, beaming. "I just moved to town. I heard there's some good game here." This was common hunter talk, but Peter had already heard that the Argents had brought in some distant cousin to help with the recent increase of Omegas. Peter was just glad that his charms and wards were tight, and no one had suspected him or his Pack in years. 

"There certainly is." Peter grinned, and he slid away from the counter to approach the younger man. The boy - and he really did look like a very pretty boy - was taller than him but slouched, shoulders broad but bunched up. Peter could tell he wanted to be towered over, and Peter certainly loved to look down on pretty things.

"Do you know Allison Argent and her dad?" Stiles asked, seeming a little flushed the more Peter eyed him, standing as close as was socially acceptable. He fit the straw between his teeth, lips curling around it, eyes never breaking away from Peter's.

"I certainly do." Peter said. "They're quite loyal customers." And, looking to curry favor, to get the boy to open up even faster, he added, "We have many common interests." 

Stiles's eyes widened, and he messily popped the straw out of his mouth. "Oh! Wow, so you - cool! Well, they told me you could set me up. I have," and he began to prattle off some various equipment, free hand drawing up animatedly to illustrate as he spoke. 

Peter let him, content to breath the same air and let his voice wash over him, every now and then making an appropriate, impressed hum. Stiles was excited, he'd probably be energetic in bed, if a little inexperieneced but Peter was all right with that. After all, he'd always preferred training someone to his standards. 

"Um, so," Stiles said, tone changing, indicating he was no longer prattling about weapons. "So, Chris told me you were single?" Peter raised his eyebrows gracefully, trying to keep the smile off his lips. "I mean," Stiles was blushing adorably. "I mean, he mentioned. Not like he _told_ me or anything."

"Either way," Peter grinned, "I'm glad he did."

"Oh?" Stiles breathed. "Oh, yeah?" And Peter just smiled. "Well, that's great. Maybe you could show me around town sometime? Seeing how I'm new around here and all, you know?"

"You have no idea how much I'd love to. I could take you out tonight. Show you my favorite Italian restaurant?" 

"Oh my God." Stiles flushed. "Um yeah, okay. Sure."

"Give me your address." Peter said, leaning in a little. Stiles fit his lips around his straw again, anxious and more than a little aroused. "I'll pick you up at 7."

* * *

Stiles is much less sweet after a few drinks - or at least a different sort of sweet. He fell into Peter's bed less than 24 hours after meeting him. Or, more accurately, he Peter onto his living room couch and climbs on top of him, grinning, flushed pink and a little tipsy.

"Oh, man, oh, man, oh, you're so hot." Stiles was rambling, fumbling with Peter's buttons. "God, when I walked in the store this morning I was like holy shit, there he is, and fuck me, he can - can you fuck me?"

"Darling," Peter interrupted, a hand covering one of Stiles's, playing at reluctance. Stiles froze and looked horrified for a second. He pulled back and off of Peter's lap, much to the wolf's dismay, and ran a hand over his face.

"Sorry. I got carried away. You didn't even - we just met." 

"I did invite you in." Peter offered slowly, wanting to take the pretense of hesitation a little further. 

"Yeah, but you didn't - I'm sorry, I drank too much. It happens when I'm nervous. I just thought - but we just met." he repeated and stood up. "I'm gonna - I should head out, right?" he half-asked, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm gonna go." 

"You don't have to." Peter said, making his face nonthreatening, maybe a little uncertain. "I was just thinking we could talk a bit?"

Stiles's eyebrows shot up, his doe eyes getting even larger. His eyes were so brown, so pretty. Peter wanted to own his eyes. He wanted Stiles to look at him only, which made him feel more cautious than he usually would in a situation like this. As was more and more apparent, his new mate was loose and his complete attention would have to be caught. 

"Sure!" Stiles said and sat back down right away. Peter had to keep from smiling, because it was such an _obedient_ move. "Yeah. We can talk, of course."

"Thanks." Peter said. He rested his hand on top of Stiles, pinning it to the couch cushion, keeping him in place. "You know, I'm much older than you."

"You're not _that_ much older than me." Stiles scoffed, almost seeming offended. It made him seem even younger, which Peter liked. 

"And I don't do do casual sex." Peter continued, face stern, voice making it clear that his word was final. Stiles reacted well to that, biting his lip, fingers twitching minutely under Peter's palm, and Peter wondered how long it would take to get him to call him Daddy. 

"Oh." Stiles managed to get out. "I mean, I wasn't saying that we'd just - I don't wanna do... that either." he said. He was still blushing, pupils dilated and mouth parted. Peter looked at the dark pink of his nearly hidden tongue, not quick enough to avoid Stiles seeing. It was worth it, because his mouth spread in a wet smile - seemingly unaware of how whorish he looked, like he was really happy. Something in Peter's chest panged seeing that, and it threw Peter for a second.

Peter, shockingly, wanted to make him happy. He felt his own face fall, just a titch, and Stiles mirrored him. Peter leaned in and pressed a kiss to his mouth, just once, just enough to calm himself. When he pulled back, feeling more unsteady than he had in a while, the tips of Stiles's ears were pink. 

"So," Stiles drew out. He looked down at their hands, not meeting Peter's eyes. "You wanna go out with me?" 

"Of course." Peter told him. “Would you like that?” 

Stiles wet his lips once more. “Yes.” he said a little absently. He blinked slowly, and Peter was touched. So dazed after one kiss? What sort of a slut _was_ Stiles? “What do you want to talk about?” 

Peter stood to put some space between them, “Would you like a glass of wine?” he offered, wandering into the kitchen.

“I think I’ve probably had enough.” Stiles admitted bashfully. 

“Nonsense.” Peter said, getting them both glasses, bringing the whole bottle over. “Besides, I hate to drink good wine alone.” 

“Well,” Stiles laughed stalely, “When you put it like that.” Peter handed him the drink. “Cheers,” he murmured and drank. Peter sat beside him and sipped. 

“I never asked,” Peter hummed, watching Stiles’s throat work. “How long have you been a hunter?” 

Stiles fiddled with the rim of his glass, considering. “I guess since I was a teenager – although I’d been training since I was a kid. My parents were killed by wolves,” Stiles explained showing no emotion for them or the situation until he smiled and said, “But Gerard saved me and he gave me to Chris to train.” 

“So, you’re not actually related to them.”

“Well,” Stiles frowned, hurt taking over his features. This was clearly a sore spot that Peter was quite eager to press in to. “Not by blood.” 

“Of course,” Peter allowed, sounding apologetic. “I just meant that you really don’t look much like an Argent.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sties snorted, a little defensive. He gulped down more of his wine. Peter topped him off. 

“Well, for one thing,” Peter hushed, shifting a little in his seat to better look at him. “You’re pretty.” 

Stiles almost looked offended by the compliment, undoubtedly incredulous. “Allison and Kate are pretty.” he stated.

“Certainly.” Peter conceded. “But don’t you think they’re all a little severe? Hard?” Stiles’s brows pinched as he thought, and Peter was beyond charmed. “You, though,” he continued when the boy didn’t seem to have a response. “You’re _soft_.” 

And Stiles burst into laughter quite abruptly. “Soft?” he giggled, shaking so hard he almost spilled his wine. “You think I’m soft?” He tugged up the hem of his shirt to show off his flat stomach, grabbing Peter’s hand. “Like I work out so much, dude.” he was rambling, pressing Peter’s palm on his warm, firm skin without a second thought. “Like I’m not saying abs, because you gotta work out a very specific way – but feel that? Not soft.” Stiles assured him.

“Yes, while that is very nice,” Peter hummed, sharing in Stiles’s amusement but for different reasons, “It’s not exactly what I was talking about.” and he spread his fingers over Stiles’s tight stomach which may have twitched as Stiles realized what he’d done. His whole face heated red and his lips parted dumbly, prettily. Peter leaned in more, placing his mostly untouched wine glass on the coffee table. 

“You’re soft here.” he told him, a finger brushing the boy’s cheek, tickling over a mole. “And here,” he said, his thumb pushing against the plush of his mouth, wanting to dip in and press down his tongue, scrape at his delicate inner walls. “And here.” Peter continued, palm coming down to smooth over the long, milky expanse of his neck. Stiles’s eyes blinked shut, and Peter pulled back a little to guide the boy’s still-trapped hand, palm up, to the monster’s mouth. He teased a kiss over his wrist. “ _Soft_.” he explained, eyes shooting up while his head was still bowed.

Stiles was completely overwhelmed, enthralled, eyes nearly misty with the attention, and Peter had to wonder if his any of previous lovers had ever touched him so slowly or gently or if they’d all engaged in the drunken fumbling Stiles had seemed to expect. “Um,” he managed out, but it was hardly more than a choky whine, and Peter decided it was time to show him a little mercy. 

He released Stiles’s wrist to reach down, stroke his hand over the source of the sweet, aroused prey scent Stiles had started to give off. “This might be the main exception.” he teased, rubbing roughly against the boy’s trapped cock to make him twist delightfully, face scrunched up in ecstasy, in humiliation. 

“Peter,” Stiles barely managed to keep his voice from breaking. Peter took the glass from his trembling fingers and set it to safety. “If you don’t want to have sex with me tonight, I think I need to go home.” His voice was small, verging on upset, and he was clearly too drunk, too emotional to make a real decision right then. 

Peter had to make it for him, which thrilled him more than his usual pleasure in power, in controlling the actions of other “autonomous” creatures. If he was being honest, since Stiles had been so receptive on the car ride home, damn near insisting to be taken to Peter’s house, the idea of not sleeping with Stiles that night had not even occurred to him. Waiting almost felt refreshing, like a fun little game. More than that, it seemed like it might be the _right_ thing to do if he wanted Stiles in the long term, which he most certainly did. 

He had to decide, right then and there, if he wanted his mate to ever be equal to him, to share with him – which he’d never thought he’d even be considering. If he took Stiles to bed, as he would with anyone else, there were factors to consider that he didn’t have enough information on, like how drunk Stiles needed to be to be truly forgetful, for instance, and whether or not the boy had stumbled into a situation like this before – and what the outcome of that had been. 

Or, he could send Stiles home. Even if Stiles truly was drunk enough to fully or partially forget the night’s indiscretions (Peter still didn’t always understand drunkenness as he’d had no personal experience with it), Stiles would inevitably be charmed by Peter’s gentlemanly care for his wellbeing when he woke up the next morning, possibly hungover but unquestioningly intact.

Peter could play the long game, which he never did with romantic prospects. But this boy was _his_ , would be his _mate_. He could earn his trust, and he could devastate him so divinely once ready. 

And if Peter decided they were truly to be equals someday…

“Would you like me to call you a cab?” Peter asked, slowly letting go of Stiles so as to not cause any alarm. “Or I could drive you home?”

“A cab.” Stiles peeped, pushing his back against the couch, closing his eyes, over-aroused, ashamed. 

Peter nodded and fished out his phone to do just that. Stiles wandered off to the bathroom at some point during the call, and when Peter hung up he could hear him talking to himself, specifically to his erection, saying, “Buddy, you’re blowing this for me. Calm down for once in your life.” Peter grinned as he heared the faucet turn on, Stiles still muttering as he splashed some water on his face. “God, he must think I’m so,” but he didn’t finish the thought. He breathed deeply three or four times, toweled his face off with some toilet paper, and flushed to cover himself. 

Stiles seemed a little more sober when he came out, but shier too, and Peter thought maybe he’d made the wrong choice. He got them both some water as Stiles apologized and then thanked him. 

“Please don’t worry about it.” Peter said graciously. “I just hope my old fashioned ways haven’t put you off too much.”

“No, no, no.” Stiles shook his head and then bit his lip to stop himself from saying more.

“Give me your phone.” Peter said. Stiles obeyed. “I want you to call me when you get home safely. And maybe when you’d like to get a cup of coffee?” he offered, as if he felt vulnerable. Stiles face broke out into a tremendous grin. 

“I’d really, really like that.” Stiles assured him. He was too goddamned _sweet_. Peter was going to be just what he needed.

When the cab arrived, Peter walked Stiles to it. There was an awkward moment on Stiles’s part, but Peter just leaned in and demanded his kiss. When he felt like Stiles would be sufficiently breathless, he pulled back. “Don’t forget to call me.” Stiles nodded quickly and got into the cab. Peter pulled his wallet out, giving the driver a twenty, and went back to the house, allowing himself one glance back to see Stiles, head tossed back, sighing open-mouthed, oblivious to Peter’s gaze. 

Peter cleaned up, put his mouth where Stiles’s had rested on the wine glass, stretched out on the couch, pressing his face into where he had sat. Fingers gripping into the couch cushions, he envisioned a picturesque cottage with his sweet little mate inside, chained to the bed by the neck and ankle, delirious with need. He thought about ripping off the boy’s clothes, tearing his flesh apart with his fangs and claws and knot; what he would sound like screaming. He came, thinking about how he’d gently undress him after their third date, lie that it had _been a while_ , come too fast the first time and spend an hour eating Stiles out to “apologize.” 

His phone buzzed once while he was relaxing in his post-climax haze and ignored the text. It buzzed again almost immediately, and then once more. Peter gave in.

**wow i cant believe you asked me to call you. maybe you ARE that old haha**

**just kidding**

**but i’m home now**.

Smiling, Peter was about to type a response when more from Stiles came flooding in.

**do you wanna get that coffee tomorrow?**

**wait is that too soon??**

**never mind**

**i just like you a lot and im really sorry about tonight and id love to buy you coffee to make up for it????**

**okay ill stop now**

With that pause, Peter tapped in a simple. “I’m glad you’re home safe. I like you too, Stiles. We can talk tomorrow over coffee.” He stood, stretched, let the phone buzz again as he walked away. He took a quick shower and thought about putting some treads in, or maybe just some grips, so Stiles wouldn’t slip when Peter fucked him in there. 

Climbing into bed, he checked his phone one last time. Stiles had sent some set of emoticons, looking varying measures of happy or surprised. Peter smiled a little, tapped in one final good night, and turned on the lamp.

Oh, the dreams he had that night.

**Author's Note:**

> So no sex in this chapter, but Peter is manipulative and encourages Stiles to drink too much, even after Stiles expresses worry that his judgement is impaired. He touches up on Stiles without permission, and once again Stiles is drunk, with the full intent to have sex with him like this. While that doesn't happen, he has some weird fantasies about him while choking the chicken.
> 
> i am extremely needy and would love to hear from you
> 
> Come kick around with me on [my tumbley](http://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com/).


End file.
